


and the cold was as sharp as my baby

by ImaginaryParachute



Series: Kastle Smut Week 2019 [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, BAMF!Karen, Cunnilingus, F/M, Frank drinks his Respect Karen juice every morning, Hypothermia, canon compliant if you squint, consent af, fake relationship if you squint, kastle - Freeform, kastlesmutweek, kastlesmutweek2k19, ksw: makeout monday, practical cauterization technique discussed but not used, researching field medicine counts as a love language, safe sex, vulnerable!Frank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 17:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20231968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaginaryParachute/pseuds/ImaginaryParachute
Summary: "In the three months that Karen Page had lived in this building, she had established a reputation for herself as a woman who did not show up in the lobby at the witching hour with the dripping wet arm of a black-clad man slung across her shoulders. It seemed it was time to reset the counter on that one."-Frank has hypothermia; Karen has researched hypothermia treatment. Frank finds this pretty compelling.





	and the cold was as sharp as my baby

No phone has ever rung at 2:23 AM with good news, and this was no exception.

“Karen. It’s me. You still living in Tribeca?”

“I–Frank? How did y–”

“Meet me at Pier 25 in half an hour.”

The last thing she heard was Frank taking three sharp breaths, as if he were steeling himself for something, before the line cut out.

-

In the three months that Karen Page had lived in this building, she had established a reputation for herself as a woman who did not show up in the lobby at the witching hour with the dripping wet arm of a black-clad man slung across her shoulders. It seemed it was time to reset the counter on that one.

The doorman gave her a  _ profoundly _ skeptical look. “New...boyfriend, Miss Page?”

A strangled attempt at a carefree chuckle escaped her throat as she worked to school her expression from determination into an approximation of embarrassment. “Yes, yep, he’s my new, uh, new guy,” she said, chancing a glance at Frank as she did. His lips had gone from purple to white and, somewhere along their shambling walk here, he had stopped shivering. They did not have time for this.

Just as she began to make her excuses for them, he slurred, “K’ren, ‘m not–”

“Drunk!” she said sharply. Too sharply, in fact. She tempered her tone to something like exasperation as she looked back at her doorman. “He had a little too much on an empty stomach, so I’ll just head up to let him sleep this one off.”

The doorman still looked a little suspicious, so she opted to dazzle, as a last resort. She ignored the frigid cling of her own coat all down the side that had been pressed up against Frank soaking up water for the past twenty minutes. She quieted the alarms in her mind that had been blaring since her phone rang almost an hour ago. Then, she sent her elderly doorman her most dazzling smile as she said, “I really do appreciate your concern, Mr. Martin, but we’ll be fine, I promise!” 

“Well, sure, Miss Page, no need to worry about me,” Mr. Martin mumbled, cheeks reddening as he was a little dazzled in spite of her less-than-polished appearance. “Will you be needing any help getting him up the stairs?”

Karen stopped halfway to the, apparently, still out-of-order elevator at the far end of the lobby. “Nope!” she said, bright and just a little edged in desperation. As she steered them both toward the stairwell entrance, she muttered, “What  _ is  _ it with us and elevators, Frank?”

-

Six stumbling flights later and Karen’s hand barely shook as she unlocked her array of deadbolts with practiced familiarity, only a little hindered by keeping an arm around Frank’s waist as he tried to push away and stand upright on his own. He only relented after Karen gritted out a quiet, “You called me for help. Let me help you, goddammit.”

This mollified him for the next ten feet of stumbling across her miniscule living room, but just as she reached for her bedroom door, he managed to free himself her and, promptly, collapse to the floor. “Frank!” she whisper-shouted, feeling, for a moment, like she really was trying to get a drunk friend into bed as she strained to lift him from the armpits. “You’re hypothermic. No need to be hypothermic and an idiot.”

This was not, strictly speaking, a particularly fair thing to say; confusion and clumsiness were both symptoms of hypothermia, so being an idiot sort of came with the territory. Still, Frank grudgingly allowed her to put his arm over her shoulders again and steer him over to stand beside her bed. This success filled her with enough triumph and relief to carry her into giving her next command, which was, “Take off your clothes.”

The balloon of confidence in her chest didn’t burst, but it did start to deflate when Frank just stared at her. “...‘m sorry, what?” he mumbled, one eye squinting in an expression that might have been comical if it weren’t on such a pallid face. She fumbled with the proper words for a response for a moment, but then his expression cleared. He nodded and began to try to shrug out of his heavy canvas jacket, movements jerky. “Ri’, ri’, makin’ me cold. An’ stupid.” This last was added on with an eyebrow raised in her direction, which might have been more effective if he weren’t struggling to remove his jacket at the same time.

This unusual display of vulnerability was enough to shake her out of whatever immaturity had gripped her a moment ago. Karen let a protective layer of cool, clinical, nurse-like distance fall over her, brusquely reaching over to pull the stiff material off of his broad shoulders. It was heavy in her hands, still dripping, so she let it fall to the ground and kicked it toward the wall. 

His signature body armor was, thankfully, missing, and he wore only a black thermal shirt, which was also soaked through. “Arms up,” she said, and he rolled his eyes but unlocked his arms from around his chest and lifted them. For all his bulk and presence, he only had an inch or two of height on her, which was fortunate in this case as she was able to pull off the long-sleeved shirt with relative ease. Their similar heights also kept them at eye level with each other, which was part of why– _ no. Cool, clinical, nurse-like distance _ . She’d need it for this next part. She took a deep breath.

“We need to take off your boots, but you’ll have to be sitting down, and I don’t want you to get the blankets too wet, so your pants will have to come down first.” Her voice was clipped, and while that had certainly been a run-on sentence, she hadn’t stuttered while speaking it. He didn’t seem to be in an editorial mood, anyway. They made eye contact that Karen immediately regretted, but then he nodded and looked away, stuffing his hands into his armpits.

She undid his belt and fly, face smooth; before she could second-guess herself, she gripped the waistbands of both his black jeans and the underwear beneath them, shoving them down his legs to his ankles. “The bed is behind you; sit,” she said, keeping her eyes on his knees as he wordlessly complied. His skin was a bloodless, waxen yellow beneath the dark hair that was beaded with moisture. This sobered her.  _ Cool, clinical, nurse-like distance _ .

Her fingers were sure and steady as she unlaced the combat boots and pulled them from his feet. She carefully peeled off shockingly normal white tube socks, followed by the sodden mass of denim and cotton at his ankles. Just like that, she had a naked Punisher sitting on her bed. She cleared her throat. “OK, lie back”

He lifted his legs with some difficulty, managing to get his head on a pillow. She pulled the blankets over him and tucked them around him. He looked surprised. “It’s warm?”

“Electric blanket,” she said, but he had begun to shiver almost violently and didn’t reply. 

For the next hour, she perched on the desk chair she had rolled into the room, lips pressed together into a hard line as she watched him. His body-wracking tremors had subsided into normal shivering after a few minutes, and then he appeared to fall asleep. 

-

Two hours and eighteen minutes later, Frank’s breathing stilled. She glanced up in time to see his hand slip under the pillow and took that as a cue to roll her chair about two feet backward. A heartbeat later he burst upright, pointing a gun at her face. 

“Karen?” he said, eyes dazed, then, hotly, “ _ Jesus _ , Karen, I could have…” He trailed off from that desolate line of thinking, staring at the weapon in his hands whose nonexistent safety he had been attempting to engage. Only then did he seem to notice that the gun was made of vibrant blue, white, and orange plastic that was currently creaking in his white-knuckled grip.

“It’s not loaded,” Karen joked feebly, pulling an orange foam dart from her pocket. Abruptly, she spun in her office chair so her back was to him. “Also, you’re naked. Your shirt and boxers are on the nightstand along with some sweats that I think should fit.”

She looked down at the legal pad in her lap, where she had just written  _ Towel _ at the bottom of a list. Ten long seconds passed in which she heard no rustling of fabric. A quick glance over her shoulder found him still sitting in bed, staring at the toy gun with an expression so dumbfounded that she rolled back toward him in order to place a hand on his forehead, wondering if she had misjudged his improvement. “Frank? Are you feeling dizzy, confused, or short of breath? ”

He shook his head wordlessly. His eyes were black in the pale light of early morning. She cleared her throat and ran the hand that had been on his face through her hair. “Good, that’s good.” When his silence persisted, she gestured lamely at the sweatpants she had donned while he slept. “I ran our clothes–or, the clothes we were both wearing earlier through the building’s dryer down the hall. Not your jacket, though; that’s hanging in my bathroom and probably won’t be dry for a day or two. I didn’t find any weapons.”

“Dropped them while I was swimming,” he said, voice hoarse, then seemed to remember the toy he held. He set it on the nightstand beside the aforementioned stack of neatly folded clothing before turning back and meeting her gaze steadily, purposefully.

“Swimming.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“In the Hudson.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This was familiar territory. She met his gaze easily now, raising her eyebrows and lowering her chin. “And what, precisely, were you doing in the Hudson at two in the morning in February?”

He winced. “Well, there were these drug runners in Hoboken–”

“ _ Hoboken _ ? Did you swim  _ across  _ the Hudson?”

“No, I snuck onto their boat on the Jersey side. Wasn’t planning on confronting them on the water but…” He trailed off with a grunt and a shrug. “Didn’t have a lot of time to decide what direction to swim.”

“Because?”

“Boat was sinking fast.” Another grunt. Another shrug.

“Of course.” Karen gripped the notepad on her lap. “And you chose not to swim back to Jersey.”

“I could see the lights of that park on the pier.”

“And you  _ knew _ ,” she said, nostrils flaring, “that I live a few blocks away from that park.” He had the grace to look a little rueful at that, but she wasn’t finished. “So you thought you’d just give me a call from a literal sinking ship.”

“Misjudged the distance, to be honest with you, ma’am. It was farther and colder than I thought.” Her face must have looked as unimpressed as she felt, because he finally looked away and rubbed his eyes. “I, uh, I like to know where to find you. In case you need help. Case either of us needs help.” He looked back at her, one corner of his lips raised. “Don’t suppose you got any coffee? Still feelin’ a little cold.”

“Right there,” Karen said, pointing to the thermos on the floor by the bed. He huffed something that might have been a laugh and took a swig. His expression immediately soured, and he swallowed as if he had a mouthful of mud. 

She covered her mouth and turned to the side to hide the smile she couldn’t stop. “That,” he said, sounding properly dangerous for the first time in hours, “is  _ not _ coffee.”

After taking a moment to school her expression— _ cool, clinical, nurse-like _ —she turned back to him. “No,” she agreed, “it’s chamomile tea.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Warm drinks help with mild hypothermia, but they shouldn’t contain alcohol or caffeine.” It sounded like it was being defensively recited from a textbook because, well, it was, but she couldn’t help that. 

She raised her eyebrows at him challengingly, ready for him to laugh at her or argue, but he did neither. He looked from her face to the thermos in his hand. He set it on the nightstand and then pressed both palms to the blanket that had pooled precariously low around his waist. “Electric blanket on the lowest setting?”

“Yeah.”

He smoothed a wrinkle in the pilled fabric. “It was on already when we came in. I remember.”

Karen swallowed, suddenly in choppier waters. “Yes,” she said, carefully. “I got it out from the closet after you called.”

“And,” he said, also careful, “the tea?”

Another time, she might have laughed at the way he said that like a cuss word. “Made while you were sleeping.” He held her gaze as he placed a deliberate hand on the Nerf gun and cocked an eyebrow. “I figured,” she said, licking dry lips, “you’d be less likely to tackle me if you found a gun where you were expecting to.”

He nodded, ran a hand down his face, and then very slowly reached toward the legal pad in her lap. She closed her eyes for one breath, two, and then handed it over. 

His dark eyes ran down her list, which began with  _ Suture kit  _ and ended, as of quite recently, with  _ Towel.  _ “I didn’t anticipate your being wet,” she whispered, feeling suddenly as though she were the naked one. 

Mercifully, he kept his eyes on the paper. “Why a kitchen blowtorch?”

“It goes with the sterilized knife that’s next on the list,” she said much too quickly.

His eyes flicked up to hers, but he didn’t comment on the fact that she had the list memorized. The look on his face was complex and somewhat familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it. “Cauterizing ain’t like it is in the movies, white-hot knife sizzling on a bullet wound and all that,” he said offhand. 

Her jaw fell open. “I know that. Heat blade to brick red and allow to cool until no longer glowing before applying to the wound in one- to two-second bursts until bleeding stops,” she rattled off snappishly. “It’s a last resort, anyway, Frank Castle, as I’m sure you noticed it’s after the suture kit, superglue, and duct t—”

The words stuck in her throat. She had finally recognized the expression. It was a lot like the look he had given her across that diner table.  _ A .38 shows thought.  _ It also looked a little like,  _ Still got that hand cannon?  _

Like that, but also different. Because his expression right now was also on fire, and she could feel the flames licking inside her chest. “Tell me why,” he said, gravelly and low.

“You know why,” she said, voice steady. 

“Please.”

She wanted to close her eyes but didn’t. “I told you in that hospital room. I know who you are.”

Her voice caught as Frank reached out lightning quick and pulled her chair toward him. She put a reflexive hand on his shoulder and said, “Don’t.” His hand dropped like he had been scalded, but hers stayed where it was, tightening a little as she stared at it and tried to think of what she had been about to say.

_ Don’t pity me? Don’t take me for granted?  _ It was obvious he did neither from his expression that was naked with want and wonder.  _ Don’t leave again?  _ She could finally admit, here at the breaking point, that she would rather not know his response to that one.

So she met his eyes, quirked a half-smile, watched his pupils dilate and his head tip back, and said, “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

For the barest moment, he gave her a small, sad smile. Then his gaze caught fire again as he sat up on his knees. She barely had a moment to appreciate the wide, scarred mass of him before he gathered her to him in an embrace. He slid one hand into her hair at the back of her head and the other inside her sweatshirt low on her back, just above the swell of her ass. “Jesus, Karen,” he groaned, nose cool at the base of her neck, “you feel like a furnace.”

“You felt like a corpse,” she whispered back. 

He lifted his face to meet her gaze, resting his forehead against hers in a familiar sort of nuzzle. “Not just yet,” he said. “Not just yet.”

Then they kissed. Like so much that had happened between them, in this Frank was relentless but accepting, holding her tightly but taking as good as he gave. She was once again grateful for her height as she felt his cock hardening at just the right place to apply a little pressure to the front of her mound. She pushed her hips forward as she slid her tongue into his mouth and was thrilled to hear the groan that tumbled from deep in his chest in response. 

Both his hands came to the sides of her face as he pulled away to look at her, eyes black and hungry. “Take off your clothes.”

“Trying to level the playing field, Castle?” Karen said as she pulled off the sweatshirt and shimmied out of sweatpants she had changed into as he slept. They were baggy, so it was quick work. Just as she was tossing the pants away, she looked up to find his expression dizzy. In spite of the moment, a flutter of concern cooled her. “Frank, are you OK?”

“Thought I was ready. Feels like I just took one on the jaw. C’mere.” He sat back on his knees, hands at his side. Karen felt more than a little pleased to have dazzled Frank Castle and climbed into bed with him. She wrapped her arms behind his neck and pulled herself into his lap, her thighs straddling his as she kissed him again. His arms came up her back, hands tight on her shoulders as he crushed her to him. 

“Karen, can I eat you out?” he gasped like it was being pulled from him. 

She had wanted to keep kissing, actually, but the edge of something like desperation in his voice sent an impossible heat pooling between her hips; she actually felt herself get wetter. “Yes.”

He pivoted immediately, lifting her with ease to lay her down on the bed. He moved down her body and used his thumbs to spread her outer lips. She thought he would dive right in or say something, but he did neither. He just... _ looked _ . 

For a moment, the urge to close her legs and hide almost overtook her. She might have done it if it weren’t for the fact that she could see his cock getting thicker and redder with every long breath of gazing at her; she might have done it if it weren’t for the way his jaw ticked with roiling tension. 

Here was a man whom she had known and been known by in so many different shades of bloody. Here was a man who saw the hell in her. She felt anything shy within her evaporate off of her skin. Something dark and wild settled in its place that made it easy for her to tilt her chin and catch his gaze. “Well?”

He smiled, all feral delight, and surged forward, running the flat of his tongue all the way up her opening before twisting around her clit. She gasped and bucked her hips, and he immediately slid both arms beneath her ass, keeping her pelvis tilted up. Then his pace settled into something languid and meandering, a journey that knew of but was not desperate for its destination. 

She felt her orgasm coming from a mile away, and only when it was close did she begin to speak, little gasped directives like, “Don’t stop,” and, “There, there, right there.” When she came, it was one of the good ones, rolling through her slow like thunder on the prairie. Her back arched, her breath heaved out, and her thighs tightened on his head. 

Her first thought after the orgasm was that she wished he had longer hair for her to grab, maybe a beard to rub against her thighs. Her second thought was that maybe next time, he would. Her third thought was,  _ No, no, Karen. None of that. _

When she looked down, he was gazing up at her, chin resting on her stomach. There was something knowing and a little sad about the tilt of his lips again, and she gave in to the urge to press her hand against his craggy cheek, running her thumb along a fading bruise under his eye. With her other hand, she pulled a condom from the box at the front of her nightstand drawer and handed it to him.

The moment he took it, she sat up and wrapped her fingers around his cock at last, gratified to feel it surge heavily in her hand as she started to jerk him. “Is this OK?” Her voice was quiet as he panted open-mouthed against her shoulder.

“Yes,” he breathed in response. His teeth grazed her collar bone, and she felt a thrill of pleasure pass over her at the sharp tug of it. Her skin pebbled and her hand stuttered in its rhythm around him. He went...very still. Then he pulled back to look at her. She set her jaw and let a little more of her darkness show on her face, a little bit,  _ I shot him seven times because the clip ran out. _ There was no blood in Frank Castle’s mouth at this particular moment, but there might have been from the wild light in his eyes. He leaned forward and bit her earlobe. She gasped, and his cock jumped in her hand. 

“Frank,” she said, suddenly desperate, “now.” In spite of her urgency, his movements were deliberate as he unwrapped the condom and rolled it on, his eyes continually shifting back to meet hers. The moment it was on, she pulled herself flush against him, knees on either side of his hips, and said, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he said, and lined himself up against her. When she felt the head of his cock slip in, she sank down on the rest of him in one quick movement. He wrapped his arms around her torso so tightly that it hurt a little bit and groaned out a long string of curses. She smiled faintly and arched her back as much as she could, brushing one breast along the side of his face as she squeezed her inner muscles around him. His mouth fell open and he looked at her almost accusingly. Then he turned his face and nipped the side of her breast. Her hips jerked. He smiled.

Then she set a pace, not so languid as that of his eating her out, but steady and consistent. He set about trying to break her rhythm, experimentally sucking on a nipple (which didn’t do much to thrill her) and rasping his stubbled chin across her sternum (which did). When he slid a hand between them to rub circles on her clit, she picked up the pace as she felt another orgasm coming on much more quickly. “Come on, Frank, come on,” she gasped, reaching down to rub her own clit, “come with me.”

With both hands now free, he gripped her hips and began lifting her hips as he drove into her at a bruising speed. Just as she was getting close, he let out a gasping groan and bit down, hard, where her shoulder met her neck. She made a funny sound like a hiccup and came, lightly rubbing her clit through it. 

They stayed there upright in the middle of the bed with their chests heaving for a dazed minute. Then Frank stirred, holding on to the base of the condom as he pulled out of her. He pulled it off and began to look around, but then she took it from him and dropped it into the wastebasket on the floor on the far side of the bed. He shook his head with a single, amused huff, and then he flopped onto the pillows.

She knelt for a moment longer, looking at the half of his face that wasn’t pressed into the pillow. He watched her with one, steady eye. “Ah, well,” she said, resigning herself to maybe just a little more heartbreak, and stretched out beside him.

Frank pulled the blankets over both of them and pulled her close. They arranged themselves wordlessly with her head on his chest and their breaths synced up. Some minutes later, Karen drifted to sleep, her right hand resting over the steady thump of his heart. 

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up to Kastle Smut Week one day late with Starbucks*
> 
> "Hey, lads, we agreed that we can have pragmatic medical treatment and still be sexy, right? Right?"


End file.
